


A Chopin kind of torture

by AlexJackalope



Category: Original Work
Genre: Classical Music, I wish I could tag dirty talk here, M/M, Not Beta Read, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teasing, but i'm not sure if I'll make it into a short fic, might need to change the rating if it continues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 14:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19443793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexJackalope/pseuds/AlexJackalope
Summary: Hansel is a frustrated, perfectionist kind of student. He's tired, he's hurting and he can't play the damn piece until the end.Of course his teacher/crush/amazing musician is the one to find him miserable and offer some help.





	A Chopin kind of torture

**Author's Note:**

> So... I just. I wanted to write something in English so badly, just to see if I'm still terrible at this shit or if I'm getting better.
> 
> Constructive criticism is appreciated.
> 
> For now, I'll leave the fic marked as unfinished because I may or may not have some ideas for a second chapter, but I'm still unsure if something written in the middle of the night will be worth the effort.
> 
> So be honest and comment what you thought, if you'd like to see more of them. I'm having ideas.
> 
> Enjoy!

Hansel’s fingers flowed smoothly over the piano keys, reproducing a sonata by Chopin. The notes reverberated through the entire room, reaching every corner and escaping through the door and the windows, though losing a bit of its intensity.

Anyone listening to the song could be easily lulled into sleep, but his brows were furrowed, and he looked almost too frustrated and angry to be playing such tender notes.  
His arms burned, his eyes set to the sheets right in front of him and right when he was almost finished, his finger slipped on a different key and he abandoned the instrument, standing up and looking as if, had he the strength, he’d definitely throw the giant and sturdy thing across the room, right against the wall.

He wiped a tear of frustration from his face, collected his bag and was storming outside when he bumped into his professor.

“Sorry”, he almost whispered, shoulders almost touching his ears as he closed in himself, embarrassed.

“It’s okay, Hansel, but what about you? Why are your eyes so red?”, he was grabbed by the wrist before he could put enough distance between them and forced himself to look up, now really feeling the soft fabric of his shirt brushing against his earlobe.

“The Chopin piece you assigned us last week?” The teacher nodded. “I’m not getting it right. My arms get tired midway and by the time I’m almost finished, I make silly mistakes even though I know, I know the right notes. Have studied this sheet over and over in the dorms, but my hands, they just…”, he shrugged, dropping his shoulders a bit, a dismissive tone in his voice. “I’m frustrated, that’s all. I’ve been trying almost non-stop since class ended…”

“No wonder your arms are tired, do you have any idea what time is it?”, his professor interrupted his mumbled explanations and loosened the grip on his wrist. “You know you won’t be able to rehearse if you end up with tendinitis, right? Nor will you be allowed to play at the concert.”

“I know, but… It shouldn’t be this hard. Everybody else is getting the hang of it.”

The teacher stared at him for a moment, in silence. Hansel squirmed a little bit under his gaze, but otherwise stayed where he were. He realized somewhere along the conversation that he left the sheet behind and it would be too awkward to go back into the room just to grab it while his teacher was still talking to him.

“Do you want some help? Some advice? I was coming here to rehearse myself, get a little bit of the stress out of my system… Chopin might just do it. What do you say?”, his teacher finally spoke, letting go of is wrist completely and keeping the door half open, one step inside the room already.

Hansel hesitated for a moment. He surely could pass his squirming as awkward reactions to being caught half crying, half storming out of the room, but he’d never had the courage to be alone with his professor in the same room, even though he had doubts and everybody else was done asking their questions.

But… He really wanted to get it right. At least once. At least this night.

So he shrugged and half smiled to his teacher.

“Sure, I guess a little help is just what I need.”

His teacher stepped aside to let him in and closed the door once they were both inside the room. Hansel discarded his bag in a distant corner and while his professor sat right in front of the piano, testing the keys and trying bits of basic pieces, he stole some glances his way.

Professor Horace Bisset was a fine man in his forties, almost fifties, broad shoulders, hair neatly arranged, always well dressed. He had a darker skin tone, hazel eyes and dark brown hair with bits of dark grey here and there. His hands were always smooth and his fingers danced around the keys with ease, like it was child’s play. He’d also seen the teacher playing some other instruments, like a flute and a violin, but he could see why he’d chosen to teach the piano.

“Hansel? Are you not coming over?”, his teacher was looking right at him and Hansel blushed. He had spaced out for a moment, thinking about Mr. Bisset’s fingers sliding over the keys, bringing a festive tone to the room, and stopped just before imagining those fingers on his neck, stroking his hair gently.

“Sorry, sir. It’s just… You make it look so easy.” He was partly recovered and walked over, standing right beside the instrument, staring into his professor’s eyes.

“Well, I need to see you playing first so that I can help you. Why don’t we switch places?” he stood up and walked towards Hansel, changing places with the boy.

“Okay…”, Hansel sat down and flipped back to the beginning of the sheet. He warmed up again, trying a few of the notes before looking forwards and starting all over again.

The room was filled with the gentle notes once more, his fingers going over the keys with a natural flow. Hansel didn’t dare take his eyes off the sheets of paper, well aware that his teacher was looking quite closely to his hands, following his fingers with his eyes, analysing everything.

This time, though, when he felt his professor shift a bit, his attention wandered to the deafening absence of the other students and his fingers slipped again, hitting a few wrong keys in succession and he groaned, coming to a full stop.

“Don’t; keep playing, you were doing fine. Continue from where it went wrong”, his professor demanded, authority thick in his voice, without really feeling aggressive. It felt right and it sent a small shiver down his spine. He hoped Mr. Bisset wouldn’t notice.

Hansel just nodded and picked up from a few notes before his fingers slipped, continuing swiftly after that, almost missing a key at the end, but managing somewhat to finish the piece.

He stayed still for a few seconds, letting the remaining echoes of the notes sink into his skin and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Then he retreated his hands, blushing a little. He was horrible, why did he even pick the Conservatory as a career choice?

“Okay, I guess I understand now”, the professor came right behind him and spread his legs wide enough to sit right behind him in the narrow seat, his chest almost flush against Hansel’s back. The boy sucked in a breath and held it for a few seconds before releasing it, trying to calm down. “Do you know why I told you to keep going?”

“Because… Because you wanted to see me playing through the end?”, he frowned again, still as a statue, afraid to squirm and brush against unsafe parts of his professor. He wanted to be swallowed by the ground. Or the piano, either one was fine, as long as he didn’t have to face his professor afterwards.

“No. Hansel, I know you’re a perfectionist and that’s admirable, but sometimes it gets in your way. You need to feel the entire piece, rehearse it from beginning to end until you identify where things are going bad and try to fix the isolated problem. If you stop and start all over again, you’ll never get to the end of it.”

“Oh…”, that made sense.

“And you’re rushing everything; you get nervous and start moving your hands faster across the keyboard and that’s fantastic for an energetic piece, but when we’re talking about the Raindrop Prelude…”

“You told us Chopin hated that title”, he scrunched up his nose and chuckled.

“Not like he’s here to lecture me anyway… But it’s a slow piece. Here, put your hands over mine and feel the rhythm”, Mr. Bisset demanded, already setting his hands on the keyboard and pulling the sheets right back to the start.

Hansel shakily put his hands over the back of his teacher’s, touch like a feather, as if he’d destroy his professor’s beautiful and talented hands should he press a bit harder down the skin.

“You don’t have to act so spooked, Hansel. You can relax a bit, try to get rid of the tension.”

“Ok. I’ll try”, Hansel answered, relaxing his sore muscles a little bit and resting his hands on top of Mr. Bisset’s.

The professor began playing softly, guiding his hands over the keys in a slower pace and Hansel could feel the movement, much smoother and calmer than his own frustrated attempt. He’d been putting so much pressure on his muscles, trying to keep his touch lighter, that he forgot how to relax while playing.

Hansel’s eyelids became a bit heavy and he could feel his body relaxing against his teacher’s chest, slowly getting more comfortable as the other kept playing, guiding his hands.  
Then, the music stopped altogether and his professor had his hands on his hips.

“Hansel? Did you daze off?”, the teacher was smiling, but something about his grip was tense, as if he was afraid Hansel would feel offended. Hansel couldn’t be more delighted, wanting Mr. Bisset’s hands all over himself.

“I guess… You never cease to amaze me, Mr. Bisset, you’re such a talented musician.”

Mr. Bisset laughed at that, sliding his hands from Hansel’s hips to his wrists.

“Oh boy, you flatter me. If I really had this much talent, you’d be seeing me in exquisite concerts, not in a classroom. I did win some competitions back in the day I was a boy myself, but it was decades ago. Kids nowadays are going to overpower us old men someday. Kids like you, Hansel”, the teacher was rubbing his wrists gently, trying to ease off the tension from earlier, but he was still feeling sore.

He blushed, though, when he heard Mr. Bisset’s voice drop a bit, like he was confessing something he wasn’t supposed to.

“So you’re saying I’m not a total wreck?”, Hansel turned his head a bit and froze when he almost brushed his lips against his teacher’s chin. He had his head cocked to the side, to see what he was doing properly, and Hansel had completely forgotten they were almost rubbing on each other from how close they still were.

It lasted a small moment and for a few seconds Hansel thought he’d imagined the small gasp of surprise from his teacher, but then his thumbs stopped, his grip tightened a little and he retreated to whisper in his ear.

“No, Hansel, but I bet you’ll be once I’m finished with you.”

The boy felt lips brushing against the sensitive skin on the nape of his neck, then a light kiss, followed by a soft bite, his wrists still in his professor’s grasp. Another hot spark of excitement went down his spine and, this time, pooled in his belly, not quite yet arousal, but the anticipation was delicious.

He wasn’t completely sure how he felt; his teacher, always so composed and professional, suddenly pinning him in place and caressing his neck with his lips.  
It felt like a wet dream.

He blinked his eyes open and there he was, comfortably laying on Mr. Bisset’s chest, while the man poked his shoulder, asking if he was sleeping.

“Oh my— I am so, so sorry Mr. Bisset, I wasn’t— I mean, it’s just I was— I, I don’t even know”, he clasped a hand over his mouth, mortified. He was not only using his professor’s chest as a pillow, but also having a wet dream about suddenly being cornered by said professor.

“It’s okay, sweetie, we can continue tomorrow. I can teach you some warm ups and even some stretching exercises for your wrists and arms for when they get sore from playing too much.” The man stood up and moved away from Hansel’s body; the boy realized immediately that he missed the other’s heat against his back. He sighed, dejected. “Don’t be like this, Hansel, you’re doing fine. Let me suggest something: would you mind staying a bit after classes so I can see how is your progress coming along and give you some other tips?”, he grabbed the boy by his chin and forced him to look up. “We can even grab some coffee on the way to our other scholar duties, what do you think?”

Hansel felt like his cheeks were on fire and he wanted to close his eyes and nuzzle against the touch, so he bit his bottom lip hard and tried to look as nonchalant as his professor before answering.

(It didn’t work, he grinned like a child).

“Yes, sure. Coffee break”, he wanted to punch himself. Amazing; his teacher would surely be easily wooed by his brains and eloquent speech. “Hmm, and maybe even some cake? Or tea?”, the boy offered, feeling a bit better. It didn’t sound that stupid now.

“Yes, Hansel, we can stop for coffee and cake. Or cookies. It’s good to release some tension and relax after rehearsing. I’ll leave you sore, but not in a painful way, okay?”  
Hansel cursed all the gods in his head for thinking about another kind of sore and he blinked before he could proceed.

“Ok. It’s a deal, then.”

“See you tomorrow, sweetie”, his teacher caressed his cheek with his thumb for a moment, then turned around and walked out, leaving a flushed, horny and very confused Hansel behind to gather his brains and his bag before leaving.


End file.
